


Made For War

by freshavocadude



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Brothers TM, Found Family, Gen, Minor Original Character(s), Original Character Death(s), a little warning for descriptions of injuries, adjusting to war, aka my clone oc's origin story, or some of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-02-23 01:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23670442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freshavocadude/pseuds/freshavocadude
Summary: "He who surrenders hope, surrenders life."- TCW s3e18A mission gone wrong leads Clone Trooper shinies Rook and Sunny to a new path.
Relationships: Original Clone Character(s) & Original Jedi Character(s), Original Clone Trooper Character(s) & Original Clone Trooper Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	Made For War

Things were not going according to plan.

Alarms blared, the reverberations only slightly muffled by Rook’s helmet as he ran. Every overhead light, every control panel, and every system aboard the _Arquitens-class_ cruiser was blazing red.

One of the engines had been hit by enemy fire.

They were going down.

The cabin shook, making Rook stumble painfully into the wall. His batchmate, Chess, tumbled beside him, inhaling sharply at the impact. “Well, isn’t this exciting?” He said, groaning. Rook wanted to snort in equal parts nervous amusement and exasperation. Trust Chess to crack jokes at a time like this. He could almost imagine his brother’s crooked grin behind his helmet. Pushing himself back up, Rook opened his mouth to respond but a voice crackled through the com-link, interrupting him.

“The Bridge is hit! We’re unable to reach the pilots. We’re going to be pulled into the planet’s atmosphere. All forces, abandon—!” Another jolting shudder within the ship and the orders went silent, leaving behind only the jarring sound of empty static. 

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. 

They’d been on a diplomatic mission—just an escort. It was supposed to be a simple job, perfect for his Company’s second time in the field.

But instead, a Seperatist fleet had shown up to cut off their route. 

“We have to hurry!” Rook yelled, breaking back into a run. A few more troopers converged on them from an adjoining scarlet hall and fell into line behind the two of them. “We’ve got to get to the shuttle hangar!”

“The ship won’t last long once it hits the atmosphere, we’ll burn up!” Chess yelled back.

Rook clenched his fists tight as he ran. “We’ve got to get as many troopers out as we can. There should be enough room on both ships for all of us.”

“What about the other ship?” said one of the other clones. “Have we heard an—”

Another explosion shattered the wall to their right, blowing the five of them off their feet. Rubble burst, encasing them in a dense cloud of dust. A strangled yell escaped Rook’s lips as he was thrown sideways, and when he landed his head hit the floor. Hard. 

“Ah...” 

His ears were ringing. His arm felt pinched in a few places where his armor had cracked from the force of the hit. “....ess... Chess.” Somehow, he managed to get up. Rook turned, unsteadily, to help his brother to his feet.

Chess lay unmoving a few feet away, his waist and legs stuck in the wreckage behind him. 

His helmet had fractured. His eyes were closed. 

“No...no NO,” Rook yelled, desperate. He ran to the other’s side, grabbed his batchmate’s shoulder and shook it. “CHESS.” Wrenching his head up, he tried to catch a glimpse of the others, but he couldn’t see them anywhere. They were lost beneath the debris from the explosion. 

The alarms continued to flash red. The color blazed hollowly along the battered lines of Chess’s face. Rook couldn’t pull his body out. There was no time. He felt like he was swaying. The sight before him swam in and out of focus.

The unfairness of it all left him breathless for a moment as he knelt there, solemn in his aloneness. 

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

A yell escaped Rook as he stumbled upright once more. He turned, his feet slipping a little on the uneven floor. 

Then he left his lost brothers and batchmate behind.

Only moments later, Rook arrived in the hangar. There were only two escape shuttles. A group of troopers were running from a doorway farther along to his left, heading directly to the shuttle closest to them. Many of the men seemed injured in some way; their armor was cracked, a few held arms to their chests, another limped, leaning on the arm of their brother. All of them disappeared up the ramp.

Suddenly a great creaking, screeching sound came from above them. Rook nearly tripped as he ran, looking up to find the source. The ceiling was starting to crack, caving in above them.

“Come on!” yelled a voice from the second shuttle, the one closest. A trooper was gesturing to him from the top of the ramp. He hurried forward and even made it far enough to put one of his feet on the ramp, but another explosion echoed from the other hall, shaking the ground and making dust rain from the cracks above, causing Rook to raise an arm to protect his head. When he lowered it, he saw that the doorway where the other clones had emerged from had been completely destroyed. There was a figure struggling beneath the mound of debris. 

He stepped off the ramp without hesitating.

“What are you doing! We have to get out of here!” the trooper cried from behind him. 

Rook ignored him, grim determination in his footsteps. He wasn’t going to leave anyone else behind. 

The sound of metal scraped above his head but he kept his gaze focused on the sight of the struggling clone. He was trapped on his back, one of his feet pinned beneath the rubble. The back of his head and hair was a blistered, bloody mess. Rook passed the other shuttle as he ran, and, as he got closer, he recognized the trooper with a start.

“Sunny!” He called, reaching the other’s side. Sunny tried to turn and look at him, fully displaying the burn on his head. His left eyebrow had almost entirely been singed away, and his ear was red and raw. “It’s me, Rook. I’ve got you.” 

He placed his hands on the underside of the piece of debris that had pinned Sunny’s leg and heaved with all his might. He barely managed to lift it an inch, and the strain made his head spin, but it was enough. Sunny scrabbled backwards on his hands, a gasp of relief escaping his lips as his foot came free. Rook dropped the heavy burden and hurried to his side, grabbing underneath the other’s arms to haul him up. “Can you walk?”

“I think so,” said Sunny, gritting his teeth. Rook tried very hard not to look at the burned side of Sunny’s head as he gently released his hold, ready to catch the other if he started to fall. They began to run, side by side, and to his relief Sunny was barely limping.

They’d only managed to cross a short distance when the ceiling finally collapsed. 

They changed course immediately to try and avoid the wreckage. A ragged piece of the cruiser fell far from above them and crashed, catastrophically, into the wing of the nearest shuttle, tearing it from the fuselage. A few scattered clones hurried out, just as the rest of the shuttle began to crumple. They matched Sunny and Rook’s pace and as a group they hurtled toward their last chance at escape. The trooper at the top of the ramp watched them approach and when they were just within range he yelled over his shoulder, “Lift off! Get us out of here now!” He threw his hand out and grabbed Sunny’s arm, pulling him up and into the ship, Rook right behind him. Whoever was at the controls must have been listening, because the following troopers had to jump to safety. The last was just a little too far behind the others and the shuttle was rising fast—when he jumped, his chest hit the side and he almost fell backward, but Rook shot out a hand and grabbed onto his wrist, pulling him up the rest of the way.

The first shuttle exploded.

They raced up into the cabin, the ramp folding up behind them. The sounds from the explosions outside cut off very suddenly, and the muffled quiet made the pounding of Rook’s heartbeat in his skull feel deafening.

“Let me through to the cockpit!” Sunny yelled, pushing through the crowded group.

“You’re in no condition—” the trooper that had helped him aboard thrust out a hand to stop him.

“I was the best pilot in my Platoon.” Sunny interrupted, and without waiting for permission he pushed past the other clone and launched forward to take the second set of controls. 

“But, your burns—” called another trooper.

“There’s no time to argue." Rook cut in, pushing forward. “Sunny can do it.”

Sunny nodded once at the other pilot, who had begun steering them out, and called out behind them, “Buckle up boys, things are about to get hot!” 

They held onto the walls and onto each other, as the _Arquitens-class_ cruiser crumbled around them and their tiny shuttle picked up speed. Flames burst outside the windows on all sides as they shot from the hangar. 

For a moment, Rook could see the stars again—a great expanse of black stretching into the distance. 

Then everything blazed orange and white. The shuttle's alarms immediately began to wail.

“We’ve fallen too far—we’re being pulled into the planet’s atmosphere!” the first pilot cried. In the other seat, Sunny yelled as he strained at the controls. Blood glistened on his ear. The heat was becoming overwhelming. The glass of the windshield began to crack. 

Then the light vanished.

All sounds disappeared. 

The shuttle began to cool.

Far above their tiny ship, Rook could see reinforcement Republic Attack Cruisers firing at the Seperatist ships responsible for the failure of their mission. Gunfire flashed in the empty void between stars. Below them, the cruiser, and the ship they had been escorting, burned blindingly in the atmosphere. Rook pulled off his helmet, allowing himself one last look with his own eyes of the vessel that carried Chess’s body. He watched until the flickering of the fight above them had ended. Until the blazing light of the Republic cruiser filled the windows. 

Until his brother was gone for good. 

They had landed on their allies’ ship. The battle was over. They’d won, in the end. They were safe. But none of the 23 survivors cheered.

The moment their shuttle had touched down, Sunny finally collapsed back in his seat, unconscious. As their small party unloaded and a medical team rushed in to take a look at the survivors, Rook helped heave Sunny onto a stretcher. Sound still seemed muffled to him, even with the multitude of rushing movements around them. He felt a little dizzy, catching himself on the side of the stretcher. He didn’t ask permission to follow his brother to the medbay, but no one reached out to stop him. 

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

“You have a mild concussion,” the medical droid stated. “You will recover swiftly. Please, drink this.”

“Can I stay here?”

“That should not be a problem. You must rest.”

“What are the complete details of his condition?”

“The back of the head, left ear, and a small portion of the forehead have received damage from a third degree burn at the center of the injury, and larger, 2nd degree burns surrounding. The surface will heal completely, but there may be some nerve damage at the center, and it will scar. There are additional bruises to the ribs and left ankle, but that is all.”

“What about his hearing?”

“All damage was inflicted to the outer ear only.”

“Status?”

“Stable.”

Rook sighed in dizzying relief. It seemed too good to be true—for Sunny go through all that and come away with only a scar and some bruises. He was more thankful than he could express.

He missed Chess. The space by his side where his brother should have been cracking jokes was empty, and that loss was a wound Rook believed would never heal. Maybe it would scar, like Sunny’s burns, but it would never truly go away. Rook was just glad he wouldn’t have to be alone.

Sunny had not been a part of the same batch as Rook and Chess's, but he had been from the batch that came a day later. Their squads had grown up together, trained together, competed against each other, and graduated together. Now, it seemed, the two of them were the only ones left together. 

Rook was determined that they would stay that way.

They, as well as the rest of the surviving group of clones, had been transferred to a _Haven-class_ medical station near Pantora the same day as the attack. They were split up and spread out, but ultimately each of them had been placed in the same general area. Not a single clone had come out unscathed, although some, like Rook, had definitely been more lucky than others. There had been no lost limbs among the survivors, the worst of the injuries being broken arms or legs. Altogether these results were highly uncommon for the kind of attack that had occured. Under normal circumstances, all 23 of them should have burnt up in the atmosphere along with the ship. The diplomatic vessel they’d been escorting had produced no survivors. A military official had already been to speak with the group as a whole about these “irregular” circumstances, as he had called them, and that the Jedi council was currently conversing about what was to become of them in light of the event. It seemed most likely that they would simply be integrated into a new battalion.

It was about a day before Sunny woke up. Rook heard his quiet moan of pain and slid from where he lay at the opposite side of the room to pull a chair up to Sunny’s bedside. They discussed the results of the attack in hushed tones, and Rook filled him in on the loss of Chess. Sunny sighed and tried to shake his head, but winced at the strain it put on his wounds and stopped. 

Then they moved on.

They were clones, made for war. Their purpose was to fight, and yet... Death had found them far too soon.

The days spent healing on the medical base were filled with many games of Dejarik and other simple ways to pass the time. There was plenty of chatting in the mess hall, easily the most lively place on the base, and a much needed relief. Wounded clones, and occasionally Republic soldiers from various races and planets, arrived daily. Sunny was told that most of his burns would be healed within a few weeks, but that the worst bits would take much longer. Rook’s concussion healed gradually as well. 

It was around this time that the order came down to split the 23 survivors between multiple battalions as they healed. At this news Rook became anxious, but, remarkably, no new orders came for him, and he remained at the base with Sunny to say short goodbyes to clones who were transferred. 

One day while Sunny’s bandages were being changed, he caught Rook’s eye from across the room and grimaced. “I guess bald will have to be my new look,” he said, somewhat bemused. Rook chuckled, examining the jagged stretches of fresh scar tissue covering the side and back of Sunny’s head. “I doubt my hair will have an easy time growing back.”

“You could always grow a beard,” Rook suggested innocently.

Sunny leaned forward and inspected his face in the mirror, frowning slightly. “Hmm....couldn’t hurt to try, I guess.”

A couple weeks later, Sunny left the base with a well-groomed goatee, and a slightly thinner amount of bandages than usual wrapped around his head.

Both of them had received joint orders to report to the 246th Battalion, operating under Jedi General Fedhra Ti’aknen. Rook had never heard of them before, but then, he hadn’t been in the war for very long either. He didn't mind, as long as he got to stay with his brother. They arrived on the assigned Republic Cruiser and found their new battalion freshly returning from battle. The landing platform where their transport shuttle docked was swarming with activity. Clones were being rushed into the hands of medical officers, droids and pilots were exiting their craft, and troopers were diverging into multitudes of groups for debrief. 

A Twi’lek in light Jedi robes was striding across the hangar, arguing loudly with an officer that seemed to be walking very quickly in order to keep up with them. Both their voices were raised, the angry lilts carrying across the space as squads of clones ran past without a second glance and R2-units dodged their quick footsteps. 

Suddenly, the Jedi stopped in the middle of the platform, causing the officer to nearly trip before he got his bearings, rounding to face them. They were not far from Rook and Sunny’s transport, and Rook was able to get a good look at their new General. 

For this was obviously Fedhra Ti'aknen.

He had seen Jedi before, on Kamino, but never spoken directly to one, nor served under any in the short time he’d been in the field. He couldn't help his curiosity.

The Twi’lek’s skin was a pale, but bright, shade of green. Their lekku were covered with twisting, spiral markings and dots in a dark enough teal color that it was clear they’d been tattooed. Piercing yellow eyes narrowed a gaze sharp as lightning onto the officer, and they sneered, exposing sharpened canines. 

Their Jedi garb looked both maneuverable, and functional. They wore a closely fitted, light brown, sleeveless tunic. It appeared to have a hood connected to the neck, and it was long, ending about their knees. The fabric was cinched tightly into a dark belt that also held a thin, silvery rod which could only be their lightsaber. A white, long sleeved shirt was worn under the tunic, ending in a loop over the index finger on each hand. Silver armguards were worn over these. Their pants were a darker brown, the lower legs covered by the same silvery armor, and they wore sturdy, dark boots.

The General, as well as the officer they were snapping at, were now close enough for Rook to overhear what they were arguing about. Each person was speaking over the other in exasperated tones.

"—a complete waste of time—" the officer was saying, but he was interrupted.

"I don't believe that going back to get the wounded out qualifies as a waste of time, Admiral." The Twi'lek's voice was cold.

"Your little stunt almost cost us that mission." The Admiral’s eyes were wide and angry. He was leaning farther and farther forward as if to impress upon them the severity of what he was saying. General Ti'aknen didn't seem fazed.

"But it didn't."

"That isn't the point. If you would simply accept that casualties are a fact of war—” he paused, drawing back to his full height and taking a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again his voice was quieter, more calculated. “The point, _General_ ,” he spoke the title in a near mocking tone, “is that if you continue putting these—these _clones_ before your duties, you will lose. We need leaders that understand that sacrifices are necessary! That are always willing to put the mission first. And I am not just speaking of your own battalion in this case, I speak of the entire Republic. Of the good of all!”

Somewhere in the middle of this small speech, Rook felt his jaw clench. The space beside him where Chess should have been standing seemed to scream inside his head. 

But General Ti'aknen wasn’t about to back down that easily. They took a step forward, this time encroaching on the Admiral’s space, and said dangerously:

“I will not abandon my men. If I did so, not only would it also mean abandoning my teachings as a Jedi, it would mean abandoning hope. I will not allow such an attitude to overtake me, nor my soldiers.” Their voice was as sharp as Vulptex crystal.

There was a tense, thick, pause. 

The Admiral sniffed disdainfully. "I thought your _‘teachings’_ forbade attachments.” 

"The Jedi teach respect for all forms of life. I suggest _you_ learn some as well. Life is life, whether it was cloned or not." The man looked outraged, but the General wasn’t finished. 

"Admiral Beteran, it's my belief that if you continue to think of your army as disposable, one day you’ll wake up and find you don’t have one anymore.” They raised a single, thin eyebrow. “And I don't just mean as a result of the battlefield. Now excuse me, I’m supposed to be welcoming some new recruits."

And with that, they turned away.

The Admiral seemed to stutter for a moment, his jaw working as if he considered following the Jedi and arguing more. But in the end he scoffed, once, exaggeratedly, and turned sharply on his heel to march back the way he’d come.

Rook watched him for a moment before realizing that General Ti'aknen was only feet from him and Sunny. He startled, then stood smartly at attention as they approached.

“At ease, _nerra_ ,” the Twi’lek said, waving a hand. Rook blinked in surprise, relaxing a little and exchanging a glance with Sunny, who quirked an eyebrow. General Ti’aknen stopped in front of them, their hands loose at their sides, as if they had immediately rolled the frustration of the recent conversation off their shoulders. 

They appraised them both in turn before speaking again.

“My name is Fedhra Ti’aknen, and I am the General of the 246th Battalion. I’ll admit, I haven’t been in this position very long, but that’s alright. Since we’re all new here, we can figure this out together. On missions, please refer to me by my title, or _sir_. Off duty, please _don’t_.” The Twi’lek smiled, gently. “Just call me Fedhra.” 

They straightened then, clasping their hands behind their back. “Now. What are your names?”

Sunny clapped his heels together. “Sir! I’m CT-57—”

Fedhra interrupted him, waving a hand again. “No, not your CT numbers, I can learn those just fine from your transfer information. No, I want to know your names. Please.” They added as an afterthought.

They exchanged another glance. Rook was somewhat alarmed. The General—Fedhra—wasn’t anything like what he’d come to expect. He saw a slight smile curving along their mouth as they watched this silent communication, almost as if they were...amused.

“...Sunny, sir.”

“And I’m Rook.”

Fedhra grinned, large enough to expose their sharpened canines once more. “Well Rook, Sunny. It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I’ve heard good things about both of you.” At their looks of surprise, they continued with eyebrows raised, “From what it sounded in the report, without the two of you it’s very likely that your ship would have yielded no survivors at all.” They settled their pale gaze on Sunny. “Without your exceptional piloting skills, it’s doubtful that the ship would have escaped the atmosphere.” Their eyes slid to Rook. “And without you, Sunny wouldn’t have been there at all to take the controls.”

Rook opened his mouth to protest, not even comprehending that he was about to talk back to his commanding officer, but Fedhra didn’t give him a chance.

“You look out for each other. You work together. And that makes you perfect for my Battalion. You’ll fit in well here.” They smiled again. “ _Right_ , before I call over a soldier to give you both a tour, do you have any questions?” Fedhra looked between them expectantly, the pause lengthening between them.

Rook tensed. 

“If I may ask, sir. What was the nature of your disagreement with the Admiral?” He felt Sunny stiffen beside him in shock. 

But Fedhra didn’t seem surprised that they had overheard, nor put off by the question itself. In fact, they sighed. “Admiral Beteran is an annoyingly selfish person, that’s all. You two won’t have to worry about him, I promise. It’s my responsibility, and I _will_ be bringing up him and his,” their expression twisted, “ _views_ , with the Jedi Council.” They squared their shoulders, as if shaking off an annoying burr that had attached to their clothes. “Anything else?”

Another pause. “...No, sir.”

“Then good!” Fedhra brought their left arm to their mouth, speaking into a communicator. “Hobbes, come show the new recruits the works.” Then they held out their hand to Rook and Sunny. Again, it seemed like they were waiting for something more...companionable than what Rook had expected. After a moment’s hesitation, he took it, grasping the General’s arm firmly below the elbow while they did the same to him. Afterwards, they exchanged the same shake with Sunny.

“I look forward to seeing what you boys can do,” Fedhra said through their grin, and then they turned and walked back the way they’d come. The silver on their lightsaber glinted once from the overhead light.

Rook and Sunny stood in silence for a moment, then sighed at the same moment. Rook couldn’t help the grin forming on his face, and Sunny chuckled once, a short exhale through his mouth. 

“That’s—”

“Not at all what you were expecting?” Rook asked. He didn’t know why, but he felt something warm taking root in his chest. 

Sunny shrugged, eyebrows raised. “Nope.”

“That’s just Fedhra for you,” said another voice. They swung around.

Another clone was standing a few feet away, smirking in amusement. His hair had been dyed brown and was slightly longer than the typical military-issued style, just beginning to fold over and brush his forehead. He sported brown stubble on the shadow of his face and a bandage over his nose. “We’re more than just their soldiers to command. Fedhra always says we’re their family, and they act like it. The number of clone casualties per mission is lower than lots of other Battalions I’ve heard of. Name’s Hobbes, by the way," he said, holding out his hand. "I’ll be showing you boys around."

Rook shook it, just like he’d shaken Fedhra’s moments before. “So you guys just got back from a mission?”

Hobbes nodded, rubbing the back of his neck absently as he did. “Little bit of a rough one there, we got a bit crunched for time.” He dropped his hand. “Everyone made it back though.”

A little huff escaped Rook’s mouth; a brief exclamation of astonishment, and what was probably awe as well.

“Heard you’re a pilot,” Hobbes said, turning to Sunny then. Sunny blinked in surprise at being acknowledged for his skill the second time that day. 

“Yeah.”

“That’s good! We’ve got a few here and there amongst the troops. Hell I’ve done a bit of flying but it’s not my strong suit. Here come on, we can talk on the way.” He gestured to them and they followed him around and out of the hangar as he continued. “Fedhra seemed really impressed by the report they got about you though. That’s the kind of flying we need in this group. They said they couldn’t wait to see you in action.”

Sunny seemed shellshocked. “Thank you, sir.”

“Oh don’t bother with _sir_ , that’s for the General. I’m just another soldier, like you two. This Battalion is rather new after all.” Hobbes continued on in this fashion as they walked, and Rook found himself holding back a smile. They may have all been clones with the same DNA, but it was clear just from the way they talked that they were different men. Hobbes didn’t seem put off by Sunny’s less talkative nature—he was doing enough talking for the both of them. Nor was he annoyed by any of Rook’s questions. Speaking of which, he’d just remembered—

“Hobbes?” he said. Hobbes broke off, raising an eyebrow in acknowledgment. “When we met Fedhra, they called me...something. Must have been Twi’leki. Would you know what it means?”

“Depends on what it was.”

Rook glanced down at his hands, biting the inside of his lip as he tried to remember. “I think it was... _nerra_.” He looked back up to find a very smug expression on Hobbes’s face.

“Means _'brother'_.” Hobbes grinned, wild and devilish. “Welcome to the 246th.”

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes u watch the clone wars for the first time and you reach episode 6, Rookies, and immediately fall in love with the clones. then you make clone oc's. then you make a jedi oc to take care of your clone oc's. it just be that way sometimes. hopefully there'll be more content to come!
> 
> also fedhra is pronounced feh-DRAH, and they are nonbinary!
> 
> [tumblr](casualavocados.tumblr.com)   
>  [twitter](https://twitter.com/casualavocados)


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